


Ram Wine

by jellijeans



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, also should out to my ate??? a beautiful being wow i love her, anGST WOW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: Technically, Alm is too young to indulge, but as commander of the Deliverance, he allows himself to enjoy a drink every now and then.At seventeen, he is just under the age one is supposed to be to drink—but by the time the war is over, he figures he’ll be at least eighteen, or maybe even nineteen or twenty, and until they win the war, there’s no one to enforce that law—or any law—anyway.Celica would tell him otherwise, but of course, she’s not here right now.





	Ram Wine

Technically, Alm is too young to indulge, but as commander of the Deliverance, he allows himself to enjoy a drink every now and then.

 

At seventeen, he is just under the age one is _supposed_ to be to drink—but by the time the war is over, he figures he’ll be at least eighteen, or maybe even nineteen or twenty, and until they win the war, there’s no one to enforce that law—or any law—anyway.

Celica would tell him otherwise, but of course, she’s not here right now.

Alm pours himself another glass. That’s one reason why he drinks, at least.

He thinks about Tobin and Clive, both in the infirmary—Tobin almost had his arm completely cut off in today’s fight, and it had seemed like it had almost killed Tatiana and Silque to reconnect the muscles and the bone. Being wartime, even that was done in far shorter a time than it should have been, and although both Silque and Tatiana are talented healers, they hadn’t had enough time or energy to seal the skin. Instead, a heavy gauze bandage was wrapped around the wound multiple times, after the application of a poultice. As Silque had explained to Alm after he had spent what felt like hours pestering her with questions about whether Tobin would be okay or not, all that’s left to do is just to feed, hydrate, and medicate Tobin after he wakes up.

Clive, on the other hand, was knocked off of a frightened horse and then shot down by a firebolt, and is currently recovering from the magic burn in the bed right next to Tobin’s; that being said, Tatiana told him that Clive might actually not be recovering as well as Tobin, which Alm thinks is _highly_ ironic.

Before he knows it, Alm has finished another glass of wine.

 

He doesn’t really care about the wooziness of alcohol anymore. There are too many things he has to think about—commanding the front line is one thing on its own, but he also has to command the rest of the army, down to the inrienced fledgling knights who are _constantly_ in and out of the infirmary, unable to hold their own on the battlefield against the bloodthirsty Rigelian cantors they go up against. On top of that, he also keeps a careful eye on Celica’s army, and sends them supplies whenever they need it. Of course, that means that they have less supplies in their own convoy, but with Silque and Tatiana on their side, he just needs to make sure that they have enough mana herbs before each battle.

 

Despite that, too many of his soldiers nearly die too many times.

 

Many of the soldiers, especially the infantrymen, treat their problems the same way he does—they drink and drink and drink and drink until the whole world washes away. Of course, they tend to do it socially—at bars or taverns or even around campfires when they’re on the road. The wine they drink is of poor quality, but they drink it anyway—to enjoy themselves, to savor every drop of the few delicacies they receive, to reignite the inspiration within themselves, to _live_ —

He drinks to die.

And he does so with the finest wine, the wine once made in his hometown before it became a forgotten place from a forgotten time, aged perfectly for year after year after year—but he doesn’t even taste it as it goes down; he only feels the burn as it slides down his throat, already raw from the previous one drink too many.

 

Gods, what would Celica think?

 

Faye intends to go back to Ram after it’s all over—he doesn’t know about Gray or Tobin, but they probably will, too, and Kliff will probably...actually, he doesn’t know what Kliff will do.

Either way, Alm won’t be able to go home.

Even if Celica ascends the throne rather than him, he’ll still have work to do, as he technically became the commander of the Zofian army, so he’ll stay in the capitol—if Celica doesn’t ascend the throne, then he’ll become king, and then he’ll spend the rest of his days between the castle and the Temple of Mila. He’ll never be able to return to the simple, quiet life he once lived, once loved _so much_.

Still, he wonders how Ram and everyone back home is doing anyway—so he drinks for that, too.

 

Before he knows it, his eyesight is getting blurry and his arms feel almost too heavy to move, but he pours himself another glass—lastly, before he blacks out, he drinks for Celica.

Gods, he misses her.

Her soft eyes and her delicately arranged pink curls, her petite figure and soft skin, her perfect smile, the delicate trembles of her hand when she would brush it against his, her gentle yet positive and reaffirming voice...

Suddenly, his lips are trembling and there are tears rolling down his cheeks and his breath smells like alcohol and gods everything's _so blurry_ and there is so much regret regret _regret_ —

 

Alm passes out for the third time that week.

 

In a drunken fever dream, he dreams of Celica.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading !!!
> 
> i'll have another chapter of imbroglio up soon!


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